


The Fire

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin needs some sleep, and he knows what he has to do to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! Constructive criticism is appreciated.

The sun was gone many hours before now, and all the kingdom is asleep. All the kingdom, save one special boy, who lies awake and stares at the ceiling, frustrated almost to tears by his sudden insomnia. Even with Camelot wrapped in the warmth of another summer night, Merlin shivers. 

He’s heard what they say about extremes. Once you’ve truly felt the fire, everything else is lukewarm in comparison. He hasn’t just felt the fire, he’s been enveloped in it. He’s let the flames lick at his skin, leaving burns that will fade with time, but never fully heal.

He can’t get comfortable. He tosses and turns, bundling himself up in the blankets one minute and throwing them off in the next. He knows what he needs, but he won’t seek to obtain it. He won’t, he won’t, he won’t. He can’t. He repeats these words over and over again in his head, determined not to let this get the best of him. It doesn’t work. 

He realizes that he’s walking through the castle. He has no memory of leaving his room, but he moves deliberately, as if he already has an endgame in mind. He knows where he’s going, and as much as he wants to stop, he can’t. There isn’t a force on Earth, nor in the realms beyond, that could stop him now.

He comes to a door he’s walked through countless times before. It’s slightly ajar, and a few candles are still lit within the room behind it. He enters. No turning back now.

The tiny flames throw shadows at the walls, which dance in intricate patterns that Merlin takes no notice of. He is preoccupied with the form of a young man lying in the bed to his right. Blue meets blue, neither has slept in weeks, and a silent agreement is made. The form shifts, covers thrown back in invitation. Muscles gleam in the dim light. 

“C’mon, then.” Arthur murmurs.

Their bodies slide together like they’re meant to. One with an arm thrown over the other’s hip, two cold hands pressed against a warm chest. Every breath is shared with so little space between them. Pressed against each other like this, their heartbeats synchronize, and the warmth follows soon after.

It starts in Merlin’s hands where they touch Arthur’s skin, spreading through his arms to his chest, then downwards. It pools deep in his stomach, then coils like a rope. His mind comes to a kind of driven singularity very suddenly. They both feel the change.

Arthur presses his lips against Merlin’s neck, eliciting a breathy moan from his lover. Sliding a hand down his body, he rubs at one hard, dusky nipple. A short, sweet moan breaks the relative silence of the room, and he smirks, continuing his explorations. His hand travels further and further down, eventually coming to rest at the helm of Merlin’s pants.  
He casts his eyes up to where Merlin’s cheeks are flushed with arousal, capturing his pink and parted lips in a gentle kiss. Their tongues become entwined as they move together, and it isn’t long before Merlin is bucking his hips against Arthur’s hand. He’s panting, pressing upward, and Arthur curses as he feels the hard planes of muscle in his stomach tense and strain. 

“Please!” Merlin gasps, his hands clutching at the sheets. Arthur would laugh, but he’s just as ridiculously gone for it as the boy beneath him, so instead he makes himself useful by pulling at the ties on the fronts of their trousers. It’s not difficult to get them undone, and Arthur thanks every god can think of for that.

He pulls Merlin’s pants down to mid-thigh. When his cock is freed, it slaps against his stomach, hard and curved and drooling precum onto his milky white skin. Arthur sucks in a shaky breath at the sight, shucking his own trousers in record time. Merlin kicks at his, and they fall further down his legs, revealing even more skin for his prince’s viewing pleasure.

Licking his palm before taking them both in hand, Arthur strokes and squeezes with practiced ease. He bucks into his own hand at the feeling of Merlin’s cock sliding against his. He’ll never get used to it, and he never wants to. Each time is better than the last. Their bodies move together on the bed, each one’s mind lost to all but thoughts of the other, of his body, of his pleasure, of his touch.

Merlin is writhing beneath him, squeaking, moaning, purring, and squirming like a wild thing. Arthur can feel himself approaching climax.

“I’m close, Merlin.” He warns, and the sweet brunette bites his lip to keep from crying out, nodding vigorously. Seconds later, he paints his chest in cum, jerking and gasping as Arthur adds to the mess he’s made. They come down clinging to each other like the only two survivors of a terrible shipwreck.

In the aftermath, Arthur gets up to find a washcloth, wiping Merlin’s chest with gentle care. A stray drop glistens on his neck, and Arthur licks it up, stopping to suck a love bite into the skin there. They dress in baggy sleep clothes, and Arthur discards of their soiled laundry. When that’s taken care of, he climbs back under the covers.

“C’mere, you.” He play-growls, hauling Merlin towards him with an arm around his waist. Merlin scoffs and rolls his eyes, but cuddles up to Arthur nonetheless. 

“Love you, ya prat.” He mumbles, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

“I love you too, clotpole.” Arthur whispers. He only stays awake long enough to hear Merlin’s breathing even out before sleep overtakes him as well.


End file.
